1. Tug of war (1900, 1904, 1906, 1908, 1912, 1920)

Just as it will do at the end of this month, the Guardian went massive on the London Olympics in 1908. It gave over a whole column to the event, with the delicious heading: Olympic Games: Sports that foreigners excel in. There followed reports of Swedes prevailing at the javelin, Germans coming to the fore in diving competitions, and an Austrian bossing the swimming.

But it wasn't all bad news for the boys from Blighty. In the tug of war, there were five entrants. Britain had three teams, all made up of bobbies on the beat: the City of London police, the Met, and some law-abiding loons from Liverpool. The London teams both had byes into the semi-finals, along with some civvies from Sweden, but the scouse bizzies were forced to play off for the fourth semi-final spot with a team from the USA.

The US team were behemoths, consisting of several hammer throwers and weightlifters. "Their ponderous physique provoked an enthusiastic French supporter to describe them as des veritables gaillards mastodontiques," reported this paper, which refused to talk down to its readers back in the day. "But the sturdy British pullers made light of them, and with one tug had them over the line – to the evident surprise of the Americans, who promptly withdrew from the contest."

Liverpool beat Sweden in the semi-final – "They put up a better fight," reported this rag, "and though they were beaten, won the respect of everybody" – but were roundly thrashed in the final by the "Jove-like strength" of the City of London police. "One tender stripling, the baby of the team, scaled 14 stones," noted the Observer. The captain of the London side then issued a challenge to the whining Americans, offering them a tug in bare feet – behave, please – but the kind offer was declined.

2. Plunge for distance (1904)

The plunge for distance was essentially the long jump for divers. Contestants would plunge into the drink from a standing start, in order to propel themselves underwater as far along the pool as possible. Their total distance would be measured at the point they came back up for air, or wherever they'd got to after 60 seconds beneath the surface, whichever came first. Plungers weren't allowed to propel themselves through the water – after the initial dive, they had to remain motionless.

The only Olympic staging, at the St Louis Games in 1904, was won by home hero William E Dickey, who managed a plunge of 62-and-a-half feet, a good 60 inches longer than silver medallist Edgar Adams, also of the USA. Dickey's dive was only six inches below the US record of 63 feet, held by Charles Pyrah, who was sadly, desperately out of form at the time of the Games and trailed in fifth, a sorry 15-and-a-half feet behind the gold medallist.

So well done to Dickey, although it's unlikely he'd have won had John Arthur Jarvis travelled to the States for the Games. At the 1900 Olympics, Jarvis – a chubby painter and decorator from Leicester who was said to boast powerful shoulders and thighs, as well as a slightly discomforting pair of feminine pendular melons – made off with the 1,000m and 4,000m freestyle golds. At the intermediate 1906 Olympics, he added a silver in the mile race and a bronze in the 400m. And, most pertinently, he was also, at the time of the 1904 Games, the reigning British amateur champion plunger, having won the title with an effort of 75 feet and four inches.

We will never know whether this piscine polymath would have added to his wide-ranging portfolio of tin. The numbers suggest he would have, though. As does his general supercool demeanour around the pool. Not only did he once save a woman from drowning – as well as her twin while he was being about his business – but also at the 1907 world championships, he finished the 500m race nearly 50 seconds ahead of everyone else, then trod water with amused detachment as he watched the rest of the field desperately thrashing about in the water for the minor places. Chances are he'd have done it, and probably with a fag on to boot.

3. Swimming obstacle race (1900)

There were other aquatic atrocities in the early days of the Games. Underwater swimming, for example, won in 1900 by Charles de Vendeville of France, the medals decided by a complicated system which awarded two points for each sub-aquatic metre traversed, and another point for every second the contestant was able to stay under.

Then there was the magnificent 100m freestyle for sailors, held at the 1896 Games, and open only to members of the Greek army. Without question the most niche event in Olympic history, and the one that would be most improved by incidental music from Leonard Bernstein, it was won by Ioannis Malokinis of Greece, who was followed home (in the sporting sense, at least) by Spiridon Khazapis of Greece, and Dimitros Drivas of Greece. Well done Greece!

But the 200m metre obstacle race, another event at the 1900 Games, is probably the most ridiculous. The discipline required swimmers to clamber over a pole hovering just above the surface of the water, scramble over a row of parked boats, and then swim under another row of little ships. Basically Jeux Sans Frontières, then, only without oversized foam costumes or superannuated rugby league commentators. And contestants weren't allowed to double their points by playing a joker.

Frederick Lane of Australia won the race in two minutes and 38 seconds, nearly two seconds clear of Otto Wahle of Austria. Lane was racing at an advantage: having lived all his life near Sydney Harbour, he knew it would be easier to clamber over the boats at the stern, as opposed to staggering across the middle like everyone else. Oh Austria! You didn't help. Nobody from Bolivia was in with a shout either.

4. Running deer (1908, 1912, 1920, 1924, 1952, 1956)

There were plenty of gun-based oddities back in the day. At the 1900 Paris Games, slavering maniacs paid upwards of 200 francs for the pleasure of bringing down real live pigeons from the air with their pieces. Leon de Lunden of Belgium took the cash prize of 2,000 francs for his unmatched total of 21 murders. Well done, Leon! The event was quickly dropped from the Games, and must look appalling to modern eyes. Money changing hands? At the Olympics? The very thought!

At the unofficial 1906 Games in Athens, a duelling pistol contest was held, which saw contestants firing at dummies tarted up in frock coats and top hats. The bullseye was situated on the thorax. Bang! Right on the windpipe. Leon Moreaux of France took gold. Whether extra points were awarded for challenging the dummy by dusting it around the neck with a pair of gloves is not recorded.

Running target (1972-2004) saw a life-size cutout of a boar cross a 10-metre gap in two-and-a-half seconds; contestants had to shoot it in the ring (please behave) 30 times, then another 30 times at half speed. The precursor to this event was the running deer; you can fill in the gaps. But the running deer is worth a special mention because the team double-shot event at the 1924 Paris Games was won by a British team including one Philip Neame, who became the first – and still the only – man to boast both Olympic gold and a Victoria Cross, which he'd been awarded for his bravery in the trenches during the First World War, displaying a talent for the accurate long-range dispatch of grenades into Jerry's trench, what!

5. Mail coach (1900)

The 1900 Olympics in Paris seem to have been – by some distance, naturellement – the most entertaining Games in history. We've already had the underwater swimming, the pigeon massacre, and an obstacle race over boats, while a previous Joy of Six mentioned this cricketing farce (which, France being France, involved folk getting accidentally flootered on Red French Drink).

But arguably the most delicious events at the 1900 Games came in equestrianism. For the first and only time, there was a long jump for horses. It was won with a 20-foot jump by the Belgian rider Constant van Langhendonck, a gentleman whose proud monicker is in keeping with the rarefied social world of equestrianism, and yet could work equally well in hardcore porn. There was also a horsey high jump; that ended in a tie between the home favourite, Dominique Maximilien Gardères, and Giovanni Giorgio Trissino of Italy, their trusty steeds both making it three quarters of an inch over the six-foot mark.

Another one-off, the hack and hunter combined – or, in the more tongue-rolling French, chevaux de selle – was won by the grandly titled Napoleon Murat, although the event is most notable for being the first in Olympic history to include a woman competitor, Elvira Guerra of France. But pride of place at the 1900 Games must go to the four-in-hand mail coach event, four horses pulling a coach, parcel delivery as sport. It was won by a chap who has perhaps done more for romance – and the thriller industry – than any other Olympic gold medallist: the Belgian entrepreneur Georges Nagelmackers, the man behind the Orient Express.

6. Rope climbing (1896, 1904, 1906, 1924, 1932)

Well-toned aristocratic galoot Launceston Elliot was born in Australia, brought up in India, spent his teenage years in England and, being from good Borders stock, considered himself Scottish. In Athens in 1896, he became Great Britain's first representative at an Olympic Games, running in the heats of the virgin event, the 100m dash. He trailed home in fourth, and was eliminated, but he wasn't too fussed, as he had travelled to Greece primarily to compete in the weightlifting.

He acquitted himself marvellously. In the two-handed lift, he tied for first position with Viggo Jensen of Denmark, the pair having both lifted 111.5kg. However Jensen was presented with the first-place prize, as Prince George of Greece and – early controversy ahoy – Denmark ruled that Elliot had moved a foot while lifting, while the Dane had remained rooted to the spot. Elliot had to make do with second spot, but got his own back later in the day, winning the one-handed lift – a one-off, this event – by hoicking 71kg to Jensen's paltry 57.

Elliot was also something of a sharp shooter, finishing second in the free pistol event, and third in the military rifle. He completed a hectic holiday with a fifth-placed spot in the most ludicrous event at the 1896 Games that didn't feature moist seamen: the rope climb. It was won by Newman from Seinfeld Nikolaos Andriakopoulos, who whistled up the 46-foot rope like a ring-tailed lemur. The only other man to make it all the way up was Andriakopoulos's compatriot Thomas Xenakis, with the other places decided on how far the men were able to climb, and whether or not they could hold a steady L shape while dangling from the rope. Still, Elliot's work was already done, having become Britain's first-ever Olympic champion. Olympic Games: Sports that foreigners excel in? We think not. Let's leave that to London 2012.